


The Immortals

by Kiwi1018



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Beru is the best aunt, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Found Families, Healing, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obitine is endgame trust me, Padmé Amidala Lives, Padmé Amidala Needs a Hug, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Raising Babies, because they’re both still in love with the loves they lost, more characters to be added as they join the fun, rating won’t change, seriously i love her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi1018/pseuds/Kiwi1018
Summary: Following the events of Star Wars: Episode III, Obi-Wan Kenobi takes Padmé Amidala and her newborn twins to Tatooine, determined to protect the future of the Jedi from the Sith Lord who corrupted their father, Anakin Skywalker, to the Dark Side, and now rules the galaxy under the guise of Emperor.But they can’t hide forever... eventually, the galaxy will need a new hope.~~~~~~~~Or, Padmé and Obi-Wan raise the twins together on Tatooine, mourn what they’ve lost, find comfort in each other and their new family, learn to love desert life, and quietly help the Rebellion, all while thinking Anakin is dead... until they discover he isn’t._________________
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Owen Lars/Beru Whitesun, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> So, my kids are totally into The Clone Wars right now. Obi-Wan has always been my favorite character in the prequels, and TCW has only increased my appreciation. And now I have fallen so hard for Obitine. 😍 The angst! The forbidden love! The road not taken!
> 
> When I told my daughter about my idea for this story, which has been part of my mental playground for a long time, she insisted I write it for her. I said I would, if she helped. So here we go!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!  
> ______________

The first time Obi-Wan Kenobi held Anakin Skywalker’s son, he was still numb with disbelief.

_The war is over._

_The Jedi have fallen._

When, in those rare moments of quiet, he’d allowed himself to look beyond _this day, this battle,_ to imagine the end of the war, he’d thought of peace talks, not total destruction. Collaboration, not betrayal.

_I never imagined we’d fail._

_We did fail._

_We lost._

_And Anakin has a son,_ Obi-Wan thought, still stunned by the wonder of it all... _and a daughter._ He glanced at the meddroid across the small room, still tending to the second baby, who lay so small and helpless in a tiny bassinet. _Leia._ He looked down at the baby in his arms. _Luke._

_I killed your father._

_I’m sorry._

He glanced at Padmé, unconscious on the makeshift birthing bed before him. She was so pale, the rise and fall of her chest so shallow, too shallow, her essence in the Force so faint. She was the strongest woman he’d ever known... with the possible exception of Satine...

 _Oh, Satine..._ it was a sign of how exhausted, how truly numb he was, that when his final memory of her, beautiful and lifeless as she’d slipped away in his arms, flashed before his eyes, as it had thousands of times since that horrible day, it came and went with only a dull throb in his heart. There had been nothing he could do to save her. He had failed her.

As Padmé was fading away in front of him now. There was nothing he could do to save her, either.

And he had nothing left to feel.

_I’ve failed them all._

——

The hours stretched into days, not marked on this desolate asteroid in the Polis Massa system by any rising or setting of a sun, nor by the precise routines of a Republic cruiser, or even the ancient rhythms of the Jedi Temple, but by the simple ticking of the unceasing chrono.

The Temple. Obi-Wan wondered what had become of it. What would become of it. A thousand generations.... gone. A thousand Jedi reduced to two, hiding like fugitives in the Outer Rim, each moment pushing them another step further into the darkness of the unknown future.

Obi-Wan wandered into the quarters the Polis Massans had graciously given them, a suite of several small sleeping alcoves surrounding a gathering room that served as office and lounge. Bail was half-reclined on a long couch, scrolling through the ever-present datapad in his hand, while Artoo and Threepio sat idle in the corner. Obi-Wan wondered absently if Bail had shut them down, or if they’d powered down willingly, out of sheer boredom. Or despair. He no longer doubted whether droids had feelings... especially not these droids.

“Ah,” Bail looked up. “Obi-Wan. Good news.” Bail monitored the holonet to the point of obsession, Obi-Wan thought. But he couldn’t blame him. There was so much unknown, and so little they could do about it, at least until Padmé awoke... if she awoke...

Obi-Wan blinked, finally noticing the faint smile on the Senator’s face, a sliver of light that he hadn’t seen in days.

“Oh?” Good news was hard to imagine right now. Obi-Wan moved wearily toward the conservator. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and he knew, objectively, that he should have something. The small galley was thoughtfully stocked with Coruscanti-style rations, and again Obi-Wan was grateful to the Polis Massans, though even his gratitude was muted, another weary layer upon the mound of disbelief that weighted his every waking moment.

“I finally got through to Breha.” The senator’s usually serene voice wavered, his relief palpable. “She’s safe, they’re all safe on Alderaan.”

“Oh!” Obi-Wan stopped, turning to his friend. In his own fog of grief and mourning, he’d forgotten that Bail hadn’t spoken to his wife since he left Coruscant. He smiled then, faint but real, aware now of the relief emanating from the senator. The joy.

_Is he even a senator any more?_

_Is there even a Senate?_

Obi-Wan shook his head. _Not now. Later. That’s for later._ “Bail, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad for you.”

“Thank you,” Bail said quietly, as though he felt he should temper his own happiness in the face of all that had been lost.

 _No_. That’s not what Obi-Wan wanted. Bail _should_ be happy. They all needed to grasp whatever good they could find.

“That is good news,” he added, nodding encouragingly to his friend. Bail smiled gratefully. He understood. Obi-Wan turned back to the conservator, a trace of appetite returning with this reminder that there was hope.

_There is still hope._

“How’s Padmé?” Bail asked quietly as Obi-Wan took a seat beside him, setting a bottle of water on the low table before them, then carefully tearing into the wrapper of a veg-meat ration. He bit into the bar, thinking back to his Padawan years, how he had cringed at the taste with every bite, every time a mission forced them to turn to the long-haul spacers food. Now, he barely even registered it.

He chewed slowly, deliberately, as though hoping the answer might change if he delayed in saying it. It didn’t.

“The same,” he said finally, avoiding Bail’s eyes. They were both worried about her. They both cared for her, admired her, as a comrade, as a friend.

_As Anakin’s wife._

_How did I miss that? But I didn’t, did I? I had no idea they were married, but that’s just... details. I knew how he felt. I knew he was attached to her. That he loved her, in a way that was... improper, for a Jedi. And I did... nothing._

_I wanted him to be happy._

_I loved him, too._

Obi-Wan swallowed, aware again of Bail’s stare upon him. He took another bite, still hoping he might somehow delay this discussion, avoid facing the truth. Bail waited patiently, but he wouldn’t be deterred. Obi-Wan had always appreciated that about his friend. On the senate floor he could be direct, forceful, even relentless, when needed. But he knew when to temper that with patience. With kindness. With compassion.

Obi-Wan took a drink of water, suddenly ashamed of himself. For his reticence, his fear. Bail needed to know, deserved to know. Especially now that he’d confirmed he still had a home to get back to. He would want to be with his family, and soon.

“There’s nothing medically wrong with her. She’s just... giving up.” Obi-Wan sighed, setting aside the ration bar. “Even in the Force, she’s... fading.”

Bail nodded slowly, but Obi-Wan could see the pain in his eyes. “And the babies?” the Senator asked, his voice heavy.

“They’re... fine.” Obi-Wan said, a truth that was another glimmer of light in the darkness. “Lucky the Polis Massans had a ready supply of human nutrient formula. You chose well,” Obi-Wan added. “Bringing us here.”

Bail nodded, accepting the compliment, doubt still heavy in his eyes.

“You could visit them. Hold them,” Obi-Wan offered. “They’re quite simple to manage, at this stage.” He nearly laughed at himself, sounding so sagacious about babies. _Babies_. He’d never imagined...

“How did we miss it?” Bail asked quietly. “Padmé?” He looked at Obi-Wan, embarrassed, a rare sight on the stoic senator. “Of course you didn’t. It was just me.”

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan assured his friend, again with that absurd urge to laughter. He was so weary. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. How was I so wrapped up in the war that I missed something so... significant. Between my closest friends.”

Bail nodded. “I knew there was... something. Between them, Padmé and Skywalker. Whenever they were together, it was... electric. But I assumed... I had no idea....” He trailed off again. “I wish I’d known. I wish she’d trusted me enough to tell me. To ask for help.”

_Me too. Either of them. I would have done anything..._

_I will do anything. From now on. For her. For their children._

Bail gathered himself, wrapped again in his senatorial mantle. “When I spoke with Breha, she agreed... we could take the children. If Padmé doesn’t... if she can’t...” He swallowed and his composure wavered, just for a moment. He pressed on. “We never could have our own children. We would take good care of them. We would love them. For her.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He had considered the same thing. But he wasn’t ready to face it yet.

“Is Master Yoda...?” Obi-Wan changed the subject, glancing at the door that led to the small chamber Yoda had claimed for himself.

Bail shook his head. “I haven’t seen him in hours. Days, it might be now.” Bail was clearly as weary as Obi-Wan. “I don’t know if he’s eaten, or... anything.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He’s deep in meditation, that much I can tell. Jedi have ways of... drawing on the Force. For sustenance.” He glanced at the half-eaten ration bar, the taste still stuck in his throat, wishing for a moment that perhaps he’d tried meditation instead. He shook his head. He had tried. He was too distracted. Too exhausted.

“Of course you do,” Bail said dryly. “But you’re not invincible.” He cringed. “I’m sorry. That was poorly spoken. Of course you know that. Especially now.” Bail waved his hand vaguely toward the port window, as if to indicate the tumultuous galaxy beyond the serene and barren asteroid field that made up their refuge.

“It’s true then?” Obi-Wan asked. “The Jedi...? They’re all...?”

Bail nodded gravely. “The news reports are brief, but it seems the official story is... the Jedi turned against the Republic... and the clones were forced to... eliminate them. For the good of the Republic.” Bitterness seeped through Bail’s voice, rage tempered by disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” Obi-Wan protested. “That’s not at all what happened. The men turned on us. Commander Cody—” He stopped, finally overcome. Cody _had_ turned on him, he was sure of it, and Yoda had said the same of Gree. But why?

Bail was somber. “If it were just the holonet, I wouldn’t believe it so readily. The official news has been under the control of the Chancellor’s Office for years. But there are other sources... and they seem to agree. The Republic has fallen. The Jedi have fallen.”

But surely some of the Jedi had survived. For Bail was wrong... the Jedi _were_ invincible. Not as individuals, of course, but collectively. Obi-Wan had reset the beacon, surely some had heeded the warning. There had to be survivors out there, they could re-group, formulate a plan. His thoughts slipped to Ahsoka, then away again. Perhaps she... Or...

No. The twins. He had to protect the twins.

Obi-Wan shook his head, coming back to the present. “And Palpatine? The Senate?”

Bail shrugged, the casual gesture betraying his discomfort. “Palpatine has declared himself Emperor. I don’t know about the Senate. I’ll keep searching.”

Obi-Wan stood, wanting to return to the medbay, already feeling he’d been gone too long. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, placing a hand on Bail’s shoulder. “For everything.”

Bail nodded. “Anything.”

Obi-Wan turned as he reached the door. Bail was already back to scrolling through his datapad. _Of course he finds solace there. It’s his only connection to home._

Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him. It was why he spent most of his time in the medbay with the twins. Somehow... they felt like home.

———

Obi-Wan tracked time now only in the feeding rotation of the babies. He made sure, when they they were asleep, or at least calm, that Padmé always had one or both of them next to her, snug against her in the padded sleeping pod the Polis Massan medics had provided. Luke and Leia positively _shone_ in the Force, bright and warm and alive. When he held them, the Force _sang_ , weaving strands of light and life, comfort and promise. He hoped they would sing to her too... that they would call her back to life. Back to them.

He was settling Leia into the crook of her mother’s arm when Padmé’s eyes fluttered open for the first time since their birth. Her gaze was indistinct, and an air of panic rose around her as she tried to focus.

“Ani...?” Her voice was rough, a dry whisper that caught in her throat and rattled in her chest.

“Padmé,” he breathed in relief, though she was obviously not yet in the clear. “It’s Obi-Wan. You’re safe.”

Her eyes drifted shut. She drew a deep breath, then coughed, and when she opened her eyes again, she seemed more aware.

“Obi-Wan?” She sounded confused. “Where’s Anakin?” Her plaintive voice tore his heart all over again.

“He’s not here, Padmé,” he said gently.

“But look,” his voice caught on the tears welling up from the rend in his chest. “Here’s your daughter.” He lifted Padmé’s arm, snuggling Leia onto her mother’s chest. The baby sighed in her sleep, and Padmé looked down, surprised, as if seeing her for the first time. “This is your daughter, Padmé.”

“I thought...” Padmé brushed a finger across Leia’s brow and over her soft crown of dark hair. “I thought it was all a dream. I thought I’d lost them all...” she cupped Leia’s head in her hand, gazing at her in wonder.

“No, Padmé, not at all. And there’s your son,” Obi-Wan gestured to the small crib where Luke lay, swaddled and asleep. “They’re both fine. They’re both here.”

She closed her eyes, brushing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, and inhaled, a deep, steady breath. Then she looked up at Obi-Wan.

“Where is Anakin.” It was no longer a question, and Obi-Wan saw the first glimmers of Senator Amidala, _Queen_ Amidala, returning to life.

He hesitated, turning to the bassinet to pick up Luke, bring him to meet his mother.

_I can’t tell her the truth. Not now, not when she’s so weak. She needs strength, for the twins. Better to lie to her, until she’s stronger. Until she knows she has something, so many things, to live for._

But when he turned back Padmé was watching him, and he realized simultaneously that he couldn’t lie to her, and that he wouldn’t have to.

“He’s gone, isn’t he.” Again, it was not a question. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but her voice was steady. “I know he’s gone. He’s dead. I’m alone.”

Obi-Wan placed Luke beside Leia, and Padmé lifted her arm to wrap them both against her, burying her face against them as her tears dampened their tiny heads.

Keeping his eyes on the babies, Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Padmé. He is. But you aren’t alone.”

————

“She’s awake!” Obi-Wan burst into the lounge with what he knew was very un-Jedi-like enthusiasm. But he could hardly bring himself to care, now.

Bail looked up from his dadapad, his eyes bright. “How is she? Is she...?” The door to the anteroom opened with a swish and Yoda stepped out.

“Yes. I think so. She will be.” The well of strength that had sustained him these long days suddenly ran dry, and Obi-Wan collapsed on the couch beside Bail.

“Thank the Maker,” Bail said fervently, dragging a hand across his eyes. Obi-Wan looked askance at his friend, almost amused— he’d never known him to be religious. Bail shrugged, abashed, seeming to understand Obi-Wan’s amusement. “You have the Force... we all need a higher power sometimes.”

“The senator’s recovery, glad for, I am. Most pleasing, this news is.” Yoda sighed, sounding every day of his nearly 900 years. “And now... plans, we must make. Decisions. For the future.”

“Masters, if I may,” Bail put in fervently, “Come with me to Alderaan. All of you. Please. We can protect you there, the children and Padmé will be safe, comfortable. They will have a family, a home.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Yoda. He’d had the same thought, during many quiet moments in the past days. It made sense, in many ways. But...

“A generous offer, this is, Senator. But not, I fear, a wise one. For the children, or your people.”

Bail opened his mouth to protest, but Obi-Wan laid a hand on his friend’s arm.

“Bail,” Obi-Wan said gently. “He’s right. We,” he tilted his head toward Yoda, “are fugitives. If you were found to be harboring Jedi... it could be disastrous. For your people. For your whole world. And...” Obi-Wan frowned, glancing again at Yoda, who nodded in agreement. “Palpatine is not just a corrupt politician. He’s a Sith Lord.” Bail’s eyes widened at the word, and he shuddered. Obi-Wan suspected he was remembering their ill-fated voyage to Zigoola. So long ago.

“Somehow... Palpatine knows about the children. He alone saw what we all missed.”

 _Or perhaps that’s_ why _we missed it._

_The Dark Side clouds everything._

If only they’d had any idea how right Yoda truly was. How much had been hidden from them. And for how long.

“Palpatine wanted to turn Anakin to the Dark Side, to the Sith. If he were to find that his children survived... he would stop at nothing to make them into his... servants. Slaves of the Sith.” Obi-Wan sighed. “The Chancellor knows your loyalties. You will be under extra scrutiny in the coming days... and these children must be kept far away from the eyes of the Empire.”

 _Empire_. His heart ached. Was the Republic truly dead? How?

How had this all happened? How had it all ended... here?

“Agree with Obi-Wan, I do,” Yoda said, his voice rough. “A pillar of strength for the galaxy in the coming days, you must be. A leader for the Republic, in these dark times. Elsewhere, the children must be hidden.”

Bail nodded slowly, clearly disappointed, but he didn’t protest.

“I can suggest some other systems, possible refuges, further from the public eye...” Bail began, but Obi-Wan interrupted quietly.

“I do have an idea,” he glanced at Yoda, who returned an inquisitive gaze.

“But perhaps I shouldn’t tell you.” Obi-Wan turned back to Bail. “For your own protection,” he added quickly. He trusted Bail to the ends of the universe, he always would. But the hurt that flashed through his friend’s eyes was unmistakeable. Convicting.

“Tatooine,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “We could take them to Tatooine. It’s far from anywhere of interest. Anakin had family there. We could settle nearby. Disappear into the desert.” Like so many ghosts.

Yoda frowned, considering, but Bail clearly wasn’t convinced. “But if Palpatine knows that was Anakin’s home, wouldn’t he think to look there?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can’t imagine why. Palpatine knew how much Anakin hated Tatooine. He was a slave there, and... he saw it as the site of his greatest failure - where he couldn’t save his mother. He used that guilt, that pain, against him.” Obi-Wan’s heart ached, briefly, with the guilt he still felt over dismissing Anakin’s nightmares. Dismissing the strength of his love, his attachment, to his mother. He shook it off. _Later_. _This is the time to look forward._

“And so long as he thinks the children are dead...” Obi-Wan shrugged, another glimmer of hope flaring in his heart. “There’s no reason he’d ever bother.”

Yoda nodded. “If to Tatooine, you think, the children should go, agree I do. Accompany them you will. Stay with them, you will.”

“Yes, master, of course.” Obi-Wan said, surprised it was in question. He’d dedicate the rest of his life to protecting them, and Padmé. Did Yoda think otherwise?

“But join you, I will not,” Yoda continued quietly.

“Master Yoda, why?” Obi-Wan was surprised.

Yoda sighed, his voice calm, resolved. “The Jedi, failed, I have. The galaxy, failed, I have. Into solitude, I must go. To reconnect with the Force. To find what is missing.”

Yoda nodded, decisive, his eyes already on the future. “And to Tatooine, you must go, with Senator Amidala. To guard what we still have.”

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Bail’s adventure on Zigoola is told in the novel The Clone Wars: Wild Space, by Karen Miller. IMHO, the Clone Wars novels by Karen Miller and Karen Traviss are second only to Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn novels (the Legends ones... Heir to the Empire, etc.) as the best Star Wars novels out there, especially if you’re looking for more character development and storytelling and less pew-pew and space dogfights ;)


	2. The Beginning

_________________________

Bail made arrangements with the Polis Massans to trade Padmé’s all-too-conspicuous Naboo skiff for an older, nondescript vessel, small but functional, and again, Obi-Wan was grateful for Bail’s connections, his foresight in bringing them here.

Padmé was still so weak, seemed so faint and fragile, a mere shadow of the strong, confident Senator he’d known and admired for so many years. Though she could now sit up in bed, and had even begun to nurse the twins, Obi-Wan made sure one or both of the babies were always nearby, to remind her of what she had to live for.

He sat now at the helm of their new vessel, watching Bail navigate the _Tantive IV_ out of the system in the opposite direction, first to ferry Yoda into exile, and then himself, finally, home.

 _Home. I no longer have a home,_ Obi-Wan thought sadly. He glanced over his shoulder at Padmé and the twins, settled in the hold of the small freighter alongside Artoo and Threepio. Wherever he ended up, wherever his new home was... it would be with the beings who now filled this small cabin. They were all that was left of his former life. Protecting them would be the foundation of his future.

——

The trip to Tatooine was smoother than Obi-Wan expected, considering the size of the cruiser into which the four humans (two of whom tended to cry at increasing volume for unpredictable intervals) and two opinionated droids were stuffed. In their last few days on Polis Massa, the twins’ sleep schedule had become increasingly erratic, and Obi-Wan feared for the sanity of all involved. But something, whether the hum of the engines or the lull of hyperspace, soothed them into long stretches of quiet wakefulness and deep sleep. Even Threepio kept his own council, for the most part, seeming to exist in a semi-aware state of stunned disbelief. They all did.

They orbited Tatooine until Anchorhead circled into dawn, the play of light and dark across the bright ochre planet a welcome sight after so many days in the barren asteroid field and the hypnotic starlines of hyperspace. Obi-Wan tried not to think about the last time he’d been here, and everything that had happened since.

———

Obi-Wan set the ship down on the salt flats west of the Lars Homestead. And if he sat at the controls a moment or two longer than necessary, looking out at the barren, dusty desert, painted amber in the dawning light of day, it was simply because he was composing himself, not because he was delaying stepping out of the cool climate controlled cabin and into the unknown future that awaited them.

He took a steadying breath and rose. “I’ll head out and plead our case. Stay here until I return.”

“No. I’ll go.” Padmé startled him with her insistence. She had spent most of the trip asleep, when she wasn’t tending to one or both of the babies, but she still looked exhausted.

“Padmé,” he said kindly, hoping his impatience with the absurdity of the idea didn’t show. “You can barely walk. You can’t—“

“Obi-Wan.” The conviction in her voice surprised him. “They have no reason to take us in, they owe us nothing. Perhaps we can appeal to their compassion. Or their pity.”

Obi-Wan nearly scoffed. Padmé had never resorted to such measures. But then he saw the desperation behind her steely gaze, realized how truly pitiful she looked.

“Besides... they know me,” she added quietly. “Perhaps they’ve wondered. About....” she trailed off, but he understood. _About Anakin._

Obi-Wan nodded. “All right. I see your point. But you can’t go alone. I’ll go with you.”

She smiled. “I’ve no intention of going alone. I’ll take Threepio. And one of the babies.”

“Padmé!” Obi-Wan objected again.

“Obi-Wan,” she chided. “Pity, remember? Compassion. Perhaps they have children of their own, by now. Perhaps they’ll want to help.”

They decided that as Luke wasn’t currently fussing, he was the best option to accompany his mother, though Obi-Wan argued half-heartedly that the squalling Leia might more clearly attest to their desperation.

“Pity, remember?” Padmé teased, a hint of her former self rising to the occasion. “We don’t want to give away too soon what it is that they’re really getting into.” She took a deep breath, readying herself. “Threepio. Let’s go see if they’ve missed you.”

Obi-Wan watched them disembark, Padmé’s pace slow but steady, and the shadow that trailed behind her was long and dark and immutable.

————

Obi-Wan was pacing the small cabin with Leia in his arms, Artoo cooing introspectively in the corner, when Padmé returned half a standard hour later. The determined smile on her face signaled relief that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“They’ve agreed.” She placed Luke, mercifully still sleeping, in the babies’ bunk, and then collapsed onto the passenger bench. “Cleigg has passed on,” she said quietly, “but Owen and Beru agreed to take us in. For now.”

“For now...” Obi-Wan echoed. But honestly, it was more than he’d feared. It was enough. “What did you tell them?” He asked, because he really hadn’t come up with much beyond _Anakin’s children, help._

“The truth,” she said simply.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Not all of it,” she added quickly. “Just,” she gestured to the babies. “The children, and we need refuge. They remembered me, and Threepio,” she smiled weakly at the droid, still standing by the hatch, uncharacteristically quiet. “Family means something here, just like anywhere else. They loved his mother. She was good to them. And she loved Anakin. So, they’ll do it, for her grandchildren, if nothing else.”

“Anyway,” she leaned back against the bench, eyes falling shut in exhaustion. “What reason would I have to lie? Who’d come here for refuge unless they were... desperate?”

Obi-Wan nodded. That was true. The whole planet was teeming with desperate life forms. They’d fit right in.

“Oh,” Padmé added, “By the way, you’re my brother.”

_You were my brother, Anakin!_

He supposed it was fitting.

She opened her eyes just in time to catch his reaction. “What? I couldn’t tell them you were a Jedi, could I?” Her voice trailed to barely a whisper. “You’ve betrayed the Republic.”

“Ah. That’s right. I’d nearly forgotten,” he muttered.

_Not for a moment. Never._

—————

The Lars’ homestead was larger than it looked from the surface, a veritable maze of rooms and alcoves radiating like spokes from around the central recessed courtyard. A desert dwelling, set deep in the cool ground, it was an ideal shelter from the hot sun, the dry land. Lucky for them, it was suitable for a much larger family than currently occupied it. They were given rooms on one side of the compound, a large one for Padmé and the babies, Obi-Wan in a smaller chamber under a high ceiling set with narrow windows. They settled in quickly. They had little to unpack.

——————

“I dream of him,” Padmé appeared in the doorway to his room on their third night in exile, her voice dull, hollow, a muted echo in the vaulted room. Obi-Wan turned in bed to see her standing in the shadows, her outline vague in the pale moonlight. “He’s in agony, screaming, and then... he asks for me. He whispers my name, over and over, and then I wake up. Alone.”

“Did he?” She stepped into the shaft of pale moonlight that streamed through the window set high in the wall. Her fingers fidgeted with the japor snippet she wore on a chain around her neck, and tears glistened on her face. “Did he ask for me? At the end?”

“Padmé...” his voice was soft and gentle and infinitely sad.

_You turned her against me!_

She stepped up to the bed, and then the coarse blankets were lifted up, and the mattress shifted as she slid in beside him. He rolled onto his back, away, toward the wall, but she grabbed his hand, clutching it between them. Her grip was fierce and icy cold.

“Tell me, Obi-Wan. Did he ask for me? Did he regret it?”

He hesitated, not sure what to say. He would be the first to admit he wasn’t very adept at _comfort_. _Healing comes through truth._ A Jedi maxim. He wondered if it was true.

“No,” he said quietly, forcing the words over the ache in his chest. “He wasn’t himself, Padmé. By the time he... died...” Tears slipped down his face, running cold into his ears. “Anakin was already gone.”

Padmé shuddered in a silent sob. Obi-Wan clutched her hand like a lifeline: given, and taken.

“It was my fault,” she whispered. “He thought I’d betrayed him. Maybe I did, I don’t know anymore. It’s all my fault.”

“No, Padmé.” _It was mine._ “It was the Dark Side. He was deceived. We all were.”

Padmé buried her face in the blankets and sobbed. Finally she calmed, her breathing slow and steady, and he thought she must be asleep, until her whisper startled him in the stillness. “I don't like it here.”

“No?” Obi-Wan already found it peaceful: the rhythms, the routines. Simple, orderly, settling.

“Beru is so... quiet.” Padmé hedged. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Given how she lives, she’s probably not accustomed to speaking much to anyone,” he offered gently. “But she’s done much to help us, help the babies, already.”

Padmé huffed. “That’s true. But I don't think Owen likes us.”

“I don’t think Owen likes much of anything,” Obi-Wan said dryly, but then felt a stab of guilt at his own disingenuousness. What man would want strangers moving into his home? Especially a man of the desert, a man accustomed to solitude and silence. And hadn’t Obi-Wan seen him earlier that day, one finger clutched tight in Luke’s little fist, smiling at him as he tickled the baby under his chubby chin with a calloused, desert-dry knuckle?

“Give them time, Padmé,” he said quietly.

“Maybe we should find our own place,” she whispered into the darkness. “There are too many ghosts here.”

 _Ah. Of course._ He couldn’t dispute that.

“We could find our own home, nearby, the babies and I, give them some space,” Padmé continued quietly.

“Oh...” Obi-Wan already felt the loss as an ache in his chest. “And I...?”

The question hung in the space between them. “He would have wanted us to take care of each other,” she whispered finally.

He turned to look at her, but she was shadowed in the dim light, and he could only nod, a rustle in the darkness. His pillow was cold and damp against his cheek.

_I hate you!_

“Anakin would have,” he murmured.

Padmé fell asleep with her hand still in his. Obi-Wan watched the pale glow of night travel across the wall and thought of the last time he’d held a woman’s hand in the moonlight. So many years ago. Ages. Lifetimes. Satine, of course, on Draboon. They were on the run, in fear for their lives, but somehow... _invincible._ He had been sure then that they were immortal.

He had failed to consider, in the flush of youth, that with immortality would come age.

———————

Obi-Wan was walking Leia across the courtyard the next night, the repetition of his pacing being her current preferred soporific. He was hoping to give Padmé a few extra minutes of sleep, though it was a struggle to keep his own eyes open, when Beru appeared and took the baby silently from his arms, motioning him back to bed. Too exhausted to protest, he slept a longer stretch that night than he had since before... _everything._

“It’s good for her,” Owen said the next afternoon, as Obi-Wan sat awkwardly watching Padmé and Beru fuss over the twins. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure which woman Owen was referring to, but he had to agree. He had quickly become redundant, as far as baby-care was concerned.

“Know anything about vaporators?” Owen asked.

“Are they anything like starfighters?” Obi-Wan countered. He’d never touched a vaporator in his life.

“Sure,” Owen replied dryly. “One of those droids of yours speak a binary programming language?”

“I should hope so.” Obi-Wan stood and gestured toward the door. “After you.”

————————


	3. Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some thrilling heroics.  
> ————————————————

They were on Tatooine for weeks before they heard their first raid alarm. It blared loud and low, the harsh, buzzing tone a physical force that reverberated in the walls. It was unsettling, to say the least. Leia was already wailing in her mother’s arms when Owen burst in from the workshop, though Luke, miraculously, slept on. Owen slapped the silencer and switched on the short-range comm. It was several moments before he set down the earpiece and turned to Obi-Wan.

“Sandpeople,” he said shortly. “Took the Marstrap’s children. Coming?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan stood, then hesitated. “Do we need weapons?” He asked, thinking of his lightsaber, hidden beneath the mattress in his room, and Anakin’s, under Padmé’s.

“Of course. Do you have one?” Owen asked, nonplussed.

It was a split second decision, guided by the Force, and he’d have to live with the consequences. “No.”

Owen nodded, unsurprised. “I’ve got plenty. Let’s go.”

“Obi-Wan!” Padmé burst out. “No! You can’t!”

He turned to her. “Padmé? They need our help.”

Owen grunted. “I’ll get the supplies. Meet me outside. We can’t delay.” He headed back toward the workshop, Beru following quietly, closing the door behind them.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan turned to her, “what’s wrong?” She’d always been quick to help those in need, to insist that the Jedi do the same. “We’re part of the community now. We have to help these people.”

She clutched Leia to her chest, the baby’s wailing mercifully reduced to whimpering, and shuddered. “It’s dangerous, Obi-Wan. When they went after Shmi... they lost a dozen men. Cliegg lost his leg. And they didn’t even get her back.”

Obi-Wan felt a stab in his chest. He’d had no idea... Anakin had never told him.

Not now. He couldn’t deal with that now.

“All the more reason, Padmé,” he said carefully. “I can help them.”

“Without your lightsaber? That’s foolish,” she spit back.

“It would be too obvious. We can’t... Besides. I’m a Jedi.” He grasped for a thread of his old confidence, the bravado he and Anakin had so excelled at... once. Long ago. “The Force is my ally. The lightsaber is a last resort.”

“Hm,” she huffed, still unconvinced, but at least she smiled slightly. “Of course. I’d almost forgotten. But...” she patted Leia on the back, kissed her head. “Do be careful. We need you.”

——

They were in Owen’s speeder and on the way minutes later, several aged but well-maintained blaster rifles stowed behind the front seats. Obi-Wan realized that, while this was not the ideal time, there were some things they should discuss, before Owen’s mysterious house guest met the neighbors.

“Owen...” he began, raising his voice over the rush of the wind through the open-top speeder. “When we meet the others... it might be best if I use a pseudonym.”

“You on the run from something?” Owen kept his eyes on the horizon. “Or starring in the latest holodrama?”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan was coming to appreciate Owen’s dry humor. “Something like that.”

“I’ll introduce you as whatever you like,” Owen said. “People here don’t much care about the goings on in the rest of the galaxy. We keep to ourselves. We have enough trouble here as it is.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He could understand that. Still... he stroked his beard, thinking. A new name...  
  
 _“Oh, Ben,”_ rang through his memory, as clear and bright as if Satine were beside him now, had just whispered it in his ear, and for a moment he was young again, immortal and untouched by time. Where had she come up with that nickname, anyway? He’d never figured it out. In later years she’d shifted to calling him Obi, as though _Ben_ belonged only to the past, the path untrodden. But Ben had been hers alone, and he had loved to hear it in her voice. Would it be too painful to hear again? If he pulled it on now, here, would it become tarnished by overuse? Or would it be a comfort, a reminder of better days?

“Let’s say I’m... Ben,” he decided, and he liked the sound of it already. Yes. It would suit.

“Ben it is.”

———

“This is Ben Kenobi,” Owen said to the men gathered at the Marstrap homestead on the outskirts of Anchorhead. “He’s staying with us awhile.”

Obi-Wan cringed, and, if he hadn’t known better, would have sworn he saw Owen smirk. He should have specified a last name, as well. Too late now.

Most of the party, busy with checking gear and mapping their initial search route, gave him the barest of nods. But one man, a nervous energy radiating off him, stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Dev Marstrap. Thanks for coming. I’ll take all the help we can get. Our boys were playing in the sunrise, and then they were just... gone.” He was surprisingly young, Obi-Wan thought, but as sunworn as the rest of them. His wife Mari was visibly, _prominently_ , pregnant and Obi-Wan wondered again at how he’d missed the signs in Padmé.

“Loneozner, we ready?” One of the men called.

A grizzled, sun-scorched old man, who had both a blaster and an old-style projectile rifle slung across his back, nodded. “Let’s head out.”

“Bring our boys home,” Mari pleaded, her tanned hands caressing her belly, and her fear for her children was a visceral thing, palpable in the Force. “Bring them home safe. Please.”

————

The tracks were easy enough to mark, headed east, and they set off at a rapid clip, five speeders for fifteen men. Obi-Wan ceded the front seat of Owen’s speeder to an old Anchorheadian junk trader named Hab, ( _“Reconditioned materials dealer,”_ he corrected good naturedly when Owen introduced him), and wedged himself sideways into the rear bench seat.

They found the camp just before high noon, but when they’d gathered on a ridge above the encampment, the men seemed disappointed. “They’ve already tented,” one of the farmers said, peering through his rifle scope. “It’s certainly not the largest camp I’ve seen, but there’s still too many of them, too few of us, for an open attack.”

“Camped Sandpeople spend the high sun hours in their tents,” Owen explained quietly to Obi-Wan. “If they were still out we might be able to tell which tent they’re holding the children in. Now we’re too late. We’ll have to wait until evening, and hope they don’t spot us beforehand.”

“We can’t wait, Darklighter,” Marstrap said fervently. “We can’t just leave them there.”

“Dev...” pleaded one of the younger men, who bore a striking resemblance to Marstrap. A brother, perhaps? “You know the drill. They want ‘em alive. So do we. We wait.”

“The camp seems quiet enough,” Obi-Wan said, peering through borrowed quadnocs. He knew little of Tusken habits or culture, just that they considered the human settlers interlopers, stealing their land and water. He couldn’t do anything to solve that dispute today, but if the camp was as quiet as it looked he could probably rescue the boys with minimal damage. “I don’t see any sentries, or guards. Couldn’t we get closer, see what we can find? It would certainly be easier to extract the children while the majority of the camp is subdued.”

The silence that greeted him was ominous. He dropped the quadnocs slowly to find the rest of the party staring at him like he’d just grown Gran’s eyes.

“Was it something I said?” he asked finally. “I’m sorry... this is my first Tusken encounter.”

“You don’t say,” Loneozner drawled. “You can’t just saunter into a Raider’s camp like you’re hoping for a cuppa tea and _inquire_ about the children they stole.” He said the word like it was a foul taste in his mouth.

“Right...” Obi-Wan said. “Well, I wasn’t planning on knocking.” He raised the ‘nocs again. He needed to get closer to locate the boys in the Force. “Would they have been tied up, on a sled, perhaps?” He asked, taking a gamble. “I think I see the drag marks.”

“You are green! You done much tracking there in the Core, wherever you’re from?” asked Loneozner, clearly skeptical about both the brains and wits of this outlander. “‘Cause you get on the wrong side of a Raider, it’s nothin’ like a disgruntled Alderaanian who didn’t get his soup served the right temperature.”

Obi-Wan was offended on Bail’s behalf, but decided to let it go. For now. “I once tracked a Hutt for days through the swamps of Nal Hutta,” Obi-Wan said, pulling on his crispest Coruscanti accent. If he was being honest, that had been mostly Vos’s doing. But it wasn’t relevant now. Silence fell among the group as Loneozner stared at him.

“This is a desert,” Loneozner finally grumbled.

“A Hutt?” said Darklighter.

“We don't have time for this,” Marstrap broke in. “If he’s willing to go, let him go. I’m in. I’m getting my boys back.”

“Fine.” Loneozner grunted. “Two’s more than enough for a recon. We’ll stay here and keep watch.”

—————

Obi-Wan would once have used the Force to jump to the bottom of the canyon, but in this new life he followed Marstrap down a winding cut in the rim to a shallow wadi along the edge of the canyon floor. From there they approached the camp slowly and carefully. They could no longer see the men up on the ridge, which Obi-Wan supposed was a good thing, but he did wonder briefly how they’d manage to communicate if danger were ahead.

Then he remembered the long-shot sniper rifles so many of them carried, and realized. They really were keeping watch. Communication would only go one way, and would be done by blaster.

He motioned Marstrap behind a large boulder, where they could clearly see the edge of the camp. It was quiet, the heat of the day shimmering off the sunward sides of the dewback-hide tents, faint wisps of smoke still wafting from embered cookfires. Obi-Wan brought the quadnocs to his eyes, but they were only for cover. He was reaching out with the Force.

He passed his mind slowly over those in the camp, observing their collective feelings, until he could separate out the strongest sensations among them, and, yes, _there_ , in one of the smaller tents, pressed up nearly to the rock wall of the cavern, were two very young, very _scared_ minds.

“That one, I think,” he said softly to Marstrap. “With the red feather at the peak, see it?”

Marstrap squinted in that direction, frowned. “How do you know?”

“A hunch,” Obi-Wan said carefully, sending him a soft brush of confidence, _I’ve got this, trust me,_ through the Force. Nothing to sway the man’s mind, just an affirmation, and Marstrap nodded, looking relieved.

“I’ll take the lead.” Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly before moving ahead around the boulder.

They crept carefully along the edge of the canyon, Obi-Wan using the Force to subtly mask their passage. He hoped desperately they wouldn’t be discovered. He was hesitant to use the Force directly on the Tuskens, being unfamiliar with their minds and how they might respond.

They were a dozen yards from the boys when a low growl emanated from the tent in front of them. The flaps rustled and a large reptilian snout emerged, sniffing the air with a snort, saliva puddling in the dust at its feet.

Marstrap whipped up his blaster, but Obi-Wan held up a hand, _wait_. The animal stuck its head farther out of the tent. It was a massiff, much like the ones he’d encountered on Geonosis. Vicious. Relentless. He hoped he wouldn’t have to kill it. That would certainly make a scene, with or without a lightsaber.

He felt Marstrap’s panic, but, to his credit, the man didn’t fire. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, muting their presence, diffusing their scents and sounds and even the light they reflected into the fabric of the Force around them, trying to convince the massiff that there was nothing worth investigating further.

It worked. The creature shook its head and sneezed, spattering saliva over the tent flaps, and their boots. Then it withdrew, and the tent fell shut. Everything was still through one breath, two, three, and then Obi-Wan relaxed, and Marstrap gaped at Obi-Wan. He shook his head, silence, and motioned them forward. They made it to the red-feathered tent without further incident.

They paused behind the tent while Obi-Wan confirmed that yes, the boys were in there - scared, exhausted, alive. And, mercifully, they seemed to be unguarded. He sensed no other life forms in the tent.

“They’re here,” he whispered to Marstrap. “And they’re alone, I think.”

Marstrap was too relieved to question it. “Let’s go.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and they slipped into the tent. A rush of fear spiked from the boys, and then relief.

“Dad!” The older boy yelped, jostling his younger brother, who was lying half across his lap.

“Shush, son. Yes. We’re here. We’re getting you out.” Marstrap pulled out a knife, slicing through the leather bindings around his sons’ wrists and ankles. He gathered the older boy in his arms, and Obi-Wan picked up the younger, tucking him tightly under his cloak. The boy looked up at him with wide dark eyes, but made no sound.

Their father was calm and determined now as he whispered assurance and comfort to his sons, and Obi-Wan admired his composure in the face of fear. _The things we are capable of, to care for our young._

Marstrap looked at Obi-Wan. “Back the way we came?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Seems like. Follow me?”

Marstrap nodded, securing his grip on the boy, and Obi-Wan slowly opened the tent flap.

A Tusken raider stood before them, gaffii stick at the ready. He raised his arms to strike, and lifted his head in the beginning of a howl, which was strangled when Obi-Wan hit him with a Force blast that knocked him into the rock wall of the canyon.

“Run!” He hissed at Marstrap, but he was already on the move, his cloak flying behind as he made for the wadi. Obi-Wan followed, keeping a tight grip on the boy with one arm, the other ready to deflect the next attack. The guard’s warning had been cut short, and didn’t seem to have reached beyond his own circle. They made it to the trail before the other Tuskens mobilized, and by then, it was too late. They ran up the path as fast as they could, and Obi-Wan cringed as blaster bolts rained down behind them. But then he realized: it was the men on the hill, laying down covering fire on the trail behind them.

All of the men who weren’t spotting the path were already at the speeders when Obi-Wan and Marstrap reached the ridge, huffing and puffing. Victorious. Obi-Wan placed his young passenger next to his brother in the back of Marstrap’s speeder, but the boy’s hands were clamped around his cloak, and he wouldn’t let go. Most of the speeders were already pulling away, and Marstrap was gunning the engine, so Obi-Wan hopped in beside the boys, trying desperately not to crush them in the process. He signaled to Owen, who nodded, and they all sped away, back toward Anchorhead, and home.

——————

With the job done, most of the men turned away from the pack as they approached Anchorhead, but Owen, with Hab beside him, followed Marstrap back to his homestead. The suns were low in the sky by the time they arrived, and both boys were long asleep after their ordeal. The smaller, whose name was Rue, Marstrap had finally informed him, as they’d realized their success and settled in for the long ride home, was still snuggled against Obi-Wan’s side, though his grip had finally relaxed in sleep.

Mari ran out of the house at the sound of their approach, and collapsed in relief against the speeder, gathering her sons in her arms. The boys clung to their mother, Obi-Wan forgotten, and she ushered them safely inside. He watched them go with a smile.

“Don’t think we hit a single one,” Hab was complaining to Owen as Obi-Wan approached their speeder. “They didn’t follow far enough up the trail. Too bad. Would’a been a good opportunity to thin some numbers.”

“Thank you,” Marstrap said, coming to join them. He addressed them all but looked at Obi-Wan. “It’s not really enough, just to say it, but thank you.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. He glanced at Owen. “That’s what neighbors do around here, yes?”

“Yes. It is,” Marstrap agreed. “And we’re all the better for it.” He ran a hand through his hair, stiff with dust and sweat. “When that massiff showed up, I thought we were busted.”

“You met a massiff?” Hab asked.

“Oh yeah, big ‘un,” Marstrap replied. “Right in front of us. But then it just... gave up. Went back into the tent.”

Hab was gaping at them. “Never heard of such a thing. My cousin lost an arm to one of those beasts.”

“It seemed a bit... under the weather,” Obi-Wan put in. He gestured vaguely toward the mucus trails on his boots. “Congested. Perhaps it simply didn’t feel up to pursuing us.”

Owen looked at him, surprised, but Marstrap carried on with the story. “It was lucky, whatever it was. And Ben knew just what tent the boys were in, tracked right to ‘em, and then, when he took out that Raider with one punch, just,” Marstrap swung his arm in a respectable imitation of a right hook.

“I have been told I have a solid arm,” Obi-Wan said modestly. “But now, I’m sure you want to be getting in to your family. It’s been quite a day.”

They’d succeeded in their mission, and no lives had been lost. On either side. And for a moment there...he had felt like a Jedi.

———————

They reached the homestead as the second sun was setting, tired and dusty and fully satisfied. Padmé was standing outside the pourstone entry, a heavy gauge blaster rifle in her hands, Anakin’s lightsaber clipped to her belt. Obi-Wan almost smiled at the thought of what she could possibly do with that. Almost.

Obi-Wan hopped out as Owen slowed the speeder, and he steered it into the garage as Obi-Wan met Padmé on the rise overlooking the plain.

“We got them back,” he said quietly, and with the words exhaustion set it. Padmé sobbed, once, a tight, choked sound, and clutched the rifle to her chest.

“They’re okay?”

“Of course,” he said lightly, trying to assure her. “They’re fine, home now with their parents, and, I’m sure, being severely punished for wandering too far, and spoiled rotten for coming back safe.”

She closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said quietly. “They’re okay.”

“They’re fine. We all are,” he confirmed.

He figured on heading into the house, needing food and a bath, but she opened her eyes then, and it was the Queen looking back at him.

“I want to go to Naboo,” she said. “Take the children, all of us. I know the planet. We’ll be safe there.”

“Padmé.” He tried to keep his voice gentle, patient. “You’re probably the most famous face in the system. You wouldn’t be able to hide there for long. You know what’s at stake. Your children. Think of your children.”

“I _am_ thinking of them, Obi-Wan.” Her voice was steel. “Growing up here, in the desert, in constant danger of being kidnapped, getting lost, we’re so isolated, and alone—“

“There’s danger everywhere, Padmé,” he cut in. “They could be kidnapped anywhere. They would be, if anyone found out who they are. And they’re not alone. They have us, they have family,” he gestured toward the homestead. “And neighbors. We’re part of the community, now.”

“We have family on _Naboo_ , Obi-Wan! My parents, my sister.... they think I’m dead. My family thinks I’m dead! And I’m letting them!” Padmé turned away, back to scanning the horizon, still with a death grip on the blaster rifle.

“I am sorry, Padmé,” he said quietly. “But this is protecting them too.” He sighed. “Think of the future,” he continued, imploring her to see reason, to think beyond this one incident. “The Sith are more relentless than Tuskens. And far more deadly. If Palpatine were to find out about them... they must be protected until they can be trained in the ways of the Jedi. Until they are strong enough to protect themselves.”

She shook her head, still defiant, and he dealt his final blow. _Forgive me._ “Do you want what happened to Anakin to happen to them?”

“So it’s the future of the Jedi you’re worried about,” she deflected, her voice harsh with uncharacteristic vitriol. “That’s all you care about.”

He felt stung. “The future of the galaxy, Padmé. I’m thinking of the galaxy. Someday, the Empire must fall. The Sith must be defeated, balance must be restored. The children may be our only hope.”

She was silent then, looking away, and he stood beside her, at a loss for how to help, how to comfort the inconsolable, how to change the unchangeable. The evening stars winked in, one by one and then dozens, and the desert was still but for the breeze rustling their cloaks, until finally she let the blaster slide to the ground, and whispered, “I miss _home_. I miss green. I miss rivers, and shade, and rain, and... I miss _him_. I miss him, Obi-Wan. Even after everything he did... I miss him.”

He wrapped an arm around her gingerly, awkwardly, and she turned to him all at once, burying her face in his chest. She melted against him as he enveloped her in his arms, and they met in the brokenness between them, the empty space where he should have been.

“I know,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I do too.”

“It’s where we were married,” she confessed, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Obi-Wan was startled. She’d never spoken about it to him before, never openly confirmed the truth. “It’s where we were happy. We were never that happy again. Three years of war. That’s all we had. It should have been more. We should have had so much more.”

————————

A few days later, Obi-Wan came in from the vaporator fields to find Padmé in the courtyard, fussing and cooing over a multitude of potted plants, lined up on a high workbench along the south wall — all shades of green, lush and lively and obviously greedy for water. Obviously not native species.

Obi-Wan watched, stunned, both by the array of life as well as by the serenity, the peace that Padmé radiated in their presence.

“Obi-Wan, look!” She called, sweeping a hand across the table, the gloriously overflowing array of a color so rarely seen on Tatooine. “Beru got them from the Marstraps! Aren’t they lovely?” She turned back to the plants, her face rapture. “I assured her I’d be glad to help her get them settled. This one’s a bluebud, I’m sure. It’s native to Chandrila.”

Obi-Wan touched a leaf on the nearest plant: the top smooth with a dull sheen, like worn leather, the underside a soft shorn-velvet fuzz. He didn’t want to think too hard about where they’d come from, or what they’d cost. The Force, and gentle Beru, had brought a miracle.

“They’re lovely, Padmé,” he declared, inspecting the rest with delicate fingers. “What a gift.”

“I think Beru misses green, too,” Padmé said, humming to herself as she dripped precious water on the next plant, primping the leaves and patting down the soil.

Obi-Wan smiled. Beru was born and raised on Tatooine. _Missed_ would be the wrong word. “Perhaps,” he agreed.

—————————

“The Marstraps are hydroponic gardeners,” Beru said, when he found her that night in a quiet moment. “They have connections. And you saved their children. They were happy to do me a favor.”

“My mother was an outlander,” she added quietly. “It’s a hard adjustment, for some.”

“Yes. Yes, it must be,” he agreed.

He wondered that she seemed to know just what Padmé needed, when he himself so often had no idea, but she did, and he was grateful.

———————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Padme seems annoyingly fragile or clingy, keep in mind that she’s just lost her husband, her home, her family, her job, and everything she knew. Plus, she probably has some post-partum depression (which is a real thing. Ask for help). Hang in there. She’s healing.  
> As for Obi-Wan, he’s still in denial about his trauma.


	4. Revelations

“The Marstraps had their baby,” Beru announced at the evening meal just a few days later. “A girl. They’re calling her Camie.”

“Aww, do you hear that, Leia?” Padmé tickled her daughter’s chin where she sat contentedly snuggled in her mother’s lap. “A little friend for you.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, pleased to see Padmé so at ease. Perhaps she was coming to terms with their staying on Tatooine. A blossoming friendship with Beru, the vibrant garden that now grew in the courtyard, and the twins’ finally, _blessedly_ , sleeping through the night more often than not had all seemed to help. He was pleased to see the light in her eyes, the smile on her face.

After she’d come to him that night, early in their stay, desolate, distraught, he’d prepared himself, in case she came again: words of comfort, amusing anecdotes about Anakin during the war... even an extra pillow from Beru’s stash, tucked under the bed, just in case. But while he often heard her in the dark of night, crying softly in her room, her anguish washing over him in waves through the Force, she had not come back.

So, to see her now, smiling, enjoying her daughter and making plans for the future, was a relief. She was regaining some of her old vigor, becoming, bit by bit, the Padmé he remembered. Tempered by loss, of course, but strengthened by motherhood, her enthusiasm for life was slowly returning

As for himself... At first he’d found life here peaceful, taken comfort in the simplicity, the routines. It turned out there was plenty of work to do in moisture farming. Managing the temperamental vaporators, cleaning the condensers, emptying the stills, and the constant upkeep of the calcification-prone circuitry turned out to be a full-time job.

But while his hands were certainly busy, the solitude had begun to play tricks on his mind. All too often he would startle, sure he’d heard his name cried across a battlefield... only to find it was the wind whistling around a vaporator spindle. The rumbling approach of a droid tank would turn out to be the lowing of a wild bantha herd... the screech of incoming blaster fire resolved into the distant shriek of a pouncing womp rat... the shadowed pass of an assault frigate was merely a sandhawk, wheeling on an updraft in the sky above.

And at night, alone, in the dark, when it was was too still, too quiet... the ghosts found him, one after another. Cody. Rex. Ahsoka. Windu, Koon, Mundi... too many to count. And Anakin. Always Anakin. But not as he’d been at the end, no... Anakin _before_... in battle, in command, in conversation... bold... ferocious...fearless.

“ _And..._ ” Beru’s voice brought Obi-Wan back to the present: this meal, this table, this moment. She stretched the word with a flourish, as though she were about to reveal a treat, “You’ll never guess what her honor name is...?”

Owen shook his head, as though he already knew and couldn’t believe it.

“Honor name?” Padmé asked.

“Oh. We sometimes give our children a second name, in honor of a family member, or someone we’ve lost, or...” Beru was near to wiggling at her surprise. Obi-Wan had never seen her so animated in their time here.

Padmé nodded. “And?”

“Her honor name,” Beru said formally, “is _Benna_. In honor of our very own Raider-rescue hero, _Ben_ Kenobi!” She clapped her hands lightly, delighted. Obi-Wan covered his eyes and groaned. Padmé laughed, long and loud and full, and he looked up, almost startled. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that in so long, wondering briefly if he’d _ever_ heard her laugh like that. She sounded so healthy, so alive and joyful, and while it was all at his expense, he felt for a moment it was worth it.

“To Benna!” Beru said, raising her glass of blue milk in his direction, and Padmé echoed her. “Benna!”

“Benna,” Owen grumbled, as if he wouldn’t ever believe it, no matter how many times his wife said it.

“To _Camie Benna,_ ” Obi-Wan amended, raising his own glass. A healthy little girl, with two brothers to welcome her home. He could certainly find it in him to drink to that.

“I think it’s a lovely tradition,” Beru said, when they had all settled back to the meal. “Honor names. You could choose some for the babies. It’s never too late.”

Padmé smiled. “I think I will. Any suggestions? What will you choose for your baby, if you have one?”

Beru’s face clouded slightly, and she glanced at Owen. His face was troubled in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t seen on him before. It wasn’t his usual repertoire of exasperated or thinly amused or indifferent. He was sad.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Padmé said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”

Owen went back to his stew. Beru smiled sadly. “No, it’s alright. The midwife in Anchorhead is very kind, very knowledgeable. But,” she shrugged. “Sometimes there’s nothing to be done. At least, nothing here. And I’ve no wish to travel. I’m content with my lot.” Then she brightened. “And now you’re here. With _two_ babies. That’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

She stopped, looking stricken. “I didn’t mean that. They’re yours, of course. They’re your babies.”

“Beru,” now Padmé was the one offering comfort. “They’re ours. All of us. You are a delightful aunt. The best. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. Without either of you,” she finished, and Beru smiled at Owen, but when Obi-Wan glanced at Padmé, he found she was looking at _him_ , and her eyes were as warm as her smile.

Then she turned to Leia in her lap. “As you say, there’s two of them,” she said lightly. “You pick for one, and I’ll pick the other.”

Beru nodded serenely. “Well, for Luke, you might want to honor his father, or grandfather. So... Anakin? Or Cliegg,” she glanced at Owen again. “I’m afraid I don’t know what Anakin’s father’s name was.

“I don’t either,” Padmé admitted, looking troubled.

 _She says there was no father,_ Obi-Wan remembered Qui-Gon telling him, so long ago, on the other side of this same planet. He wondered if Padmé knew... but he volunteered nothing. It wasn’t his story to tell.

“Well, what about your family, the Kenobis?” Beru asked. Obi-Wan looked up, surprised. He’d had no contact with his family since being taken to the Temple as a child. But Beru was addressing Padmé, and he remembered with a start: in this life, they were siblings. Padmé glanced at him. She’d forgotten too.

She recovered in a heartbeat, and, to his relief, evaded the question with diplomatic ease.  
“They’re all still on Naboo, doing well, as far as we know. But I believe that _we’ll_ see them again someday.” She deliberately avoided looking at Obi-Wan. “So let’s choose something else. Any ideas?” She asked Beru.

“Well... I did always plan to honor my mother. She died when I was young.”

“Oh Beru, yes. Let’s do that. What was her name?”

“Mae,” Beru said, and Padmé smiled, delighted. “That’s perfect. Leia Mae,” she said, lifting her daughter into the air. “How do you like that, little girl?”

Leia squealed, clearly delighted, but whether with the name or the attention it was impossible to tell.

“And for Luke...?” Beru asked, glancing toward where he slept peacefully, oblivious to the whole ordeal.

“I don’t know.” Padmé seemed reluctant to continue the conversation now, burying her face in Leia’s belly until the baby giggled and grabbed at her hair. “I’ll think about it.” She set Leia back in her lap, reaching up calmly to smooth her rumpled hair. “There are... so many people I would honor. So many I miss. Too many to name.”

“We have a saying here,” Beru said with her usual quiet grace. “The desert leaves only bones and memories. When we speak of those we’ve lost, it’s like they’re still with us. They live on.”

Padmé dipped her head to brush another kiss to Leia’s crown, clutching her close, and Obi-Wan saw the tears sliding down Padmé’s face into her daughter’s dark hair.

“I’ve always though _Owen’s_ a solid name,” Owen offered, helping himself to another serving of stew.

——

Luke was a quiet, cautious baby, content to observe whatever was happening from the sidelines, usually with his fist in his mouth, but Leia was... _spirited_ , to say the least, in near-constant need of attention. So, when she began grabbing at the food on the plate of whichever adult had the honor of holding her during mealtimes, they let her gum on whatever she could reach, and she promptly developed a rash. It covered her whole body, red and dry, and she scratched at it incessantly until Beru fashioned some little mitts for her, tied with string around her wrists, so that she wouldn’t hurt herself. She was pitiful, and Padmé was beside herself.

Several visits to the midwife in Anchorhead provided no relief, nor did any of Beru’s homeblended salves or compresses, or even the Marstraps’ gift of an exotic plant called aloe, the leaves of which produced a sticky sap renowned for its skin-soothing properties.

“The midwife says there’s a larger medical station in Mos Eisley, where the doctor has been generations on Tatooine. We could take her there,” Padmé told Obi-Wan the afternoon of their latest unhelpful visit to Anchorhead. Beru was in the galley preparing the evening meal, while Owen sat across the room, putting minimal effort into pretending not to listen.

“Padmé...” he hedged. Obi-Wan glanced at Leia, squirming in her mother’s arms, taking in the red cheeks and eyes, the now-ever-present grimace on her face. “I though she said it would resolve on its own, yes? Once whatever she’s allergic to leaves her system...”

“Obi-Wan!” Tears sprang to Padmé’s eyes. “It’s been weeks... She’s miserable.”

“She is,” he conceded, reaching out to take the baby, an attempt at comfort for them both. But Leia squawked indignantly and clung to her mother. Separation anxiety had set in recently, and only Padmé or Beru would do.

He tried not to take it personally. “Mos Eisley is a port city... it’s too much of a risk. There’s nothing else we could try here?”

“We’ve tried everything,” Padmé said quietly. “Please, Obi-Wan.” Then _Senator Amidala_ appeared. “Master Kenobi, I can pilot that shuttle as well as you can. I’m going to take her. I’d prefer your company.”

Leia squalled again, rubbing her itchy eyes with her mittened hand, and his resolve faltered.

“Padmé... just give it a few more days. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Then you’re welcome to join us.” Padmé breezed out of the room, buoyed by her own righteousness. He sighed. It was no wonder Anakin loved her: she was just as stubborn as he was, and just as heedless of the danger to herself when someone she cared about was in need.

———

Obi-Wan spent the evening in the workshop, tinkering with a project and trying with moderate success to defragment Artoo’s databanks, in the hope that he might communicate better with a particularly temperamental but productive vaporator. Peak harvest was approaching, and Owen and Beru depended on selling their surplus for income. The added demand of their four extra residents was a strain, and Obi-Wan was determined to do whatever he could to help.

“Anakin certainly did a number on you,” he mused to the little droid as he inspected his inner circuits with an electroscope. “Have you _ever_ had a thorough memory wipe?”

Artoo _beeped_ , a clearly indignant negative.

“I thought not. Anakin always claimed you worked better with him with your history intact. But it certainly challenges your ability to work with anyone else.”

Artoo _trilled_ in alarm.

“No, no, my little friend. I wouldn’t dare. You’ve earned every memory you’ve got,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “They are yours to keep.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Loyal to a fault, that was Anakin. He’d always known that, and tried to do what he could to honor it, while still encouraging his apprentice to mature in the Jedi values of _temperance_ and _restraint_. But when the Jedi were set against the Chancellor, his family set against his mentor... the division of his loyalties had cracked him to the core.

 _But the Jedi weren’t really his family after all, were we?_ The realization surprised him. Anakin had had Padmé. She was his ultimate loyalty.

_No. His ultimate loyalty had been to himself. He turned against her._

_Against all of us._

There was a creak as the door opened and Owen stepped in.

“If you’re ready to shut the power down, I’m just about finished here.” Obi-Wan offered. “I am making some progress with Artoo.”

“Good.” Owen paused for a moment, frowning, then, “You seem awfully hesitant to get your niece some help. Is it about the credits?”

 _Ah. There it is._ “No, we’ll manage, I think.” In truth, Obi-Wan hadn’t even considered that. Something else to figure out.

Owen nodded, but he was still waiting for an answer.

Obi-Wan set down the tools and sat back. “The truth is that I believe it dangerous, for any of us, but especially Padmé, to go into Mos Eisley, or any largely populated area. She’s a public figure... or was, and we have gone to great lengths to make it appear as though she had... died. It is imperative that she remain in that state, as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned.”

Owen seemed to digest this and arrive at a conclusion. “I’m no fool.”

“I’ve never thought you were,” Obi-Wan said, surprised. He’d actually come to rather respect the man.

“You shouldn’t have been able to rescue those boys so easily. We lose women and children to the Sandpeople every year. And men, good men, trying to get them back.”

Obi-Wan paused. _Of course... Shmi. Cliegg._ “I am sorry for that,” he said quietly. “I’ll do what I can to help, while I’m here.”

“And your _sister_ has a lightsaber?” Owen spoke as though the relationship was the question, not the weapon.

 _Ah_. He had an idea where this was headed, now... “Well, Anakin was a Jedi, as you know. It was his.”

“So you are too then.” It wasn’t a question.

Obi-Wan sighed. “I am,” he conceded. “Or, I was. I don’t know anymore. But whatever you’ve heard about what happened with the Jedi, it’s not true. We were always only loyal to the Republic. To democracy.”

“We don’t get much news from outworld.” Owen said. “I don’t really care about that, what the Jedi did or didn’t do. You’re the only Jedi I’ve ever met... other than my step-brother. They never did much for us out here, good or bad, what with the Hutts... But you seem all right. And having Padmé here, and the kids... it’s done wonders for Beru.”

This was the most Obi-Wan had ever heard Owen speak in one setting. He was rather impressed.

“But if I’m putting my life, my family’s life, in danger, having you here... I want to know about it. You owe me that,” Owen finished.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Owen said, as though slightly surprised he’d won that easily. “Great. So tell me what I need to know.” He settled in, leaning back against the workbench and crossing his arms.

 _Oh_. “Of course.” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure where to begin, now. “Well, you’re correct, I’m not Padmé’s brother.”

“Yeah. No kidding,” Owen said, and Obi-Wan frowned, confused. “Never mind,” Owen went on. “What else.”

“Anakin was my padawan. My apprentice,” he clarified. “As a Jedi. But he was... corrupted, turned to evil by the Dark side of the Force.” He paused here, in case he needed to clarify further.

Owen shrugged. “Let’s pretend I know or care what that means. Carry on.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “All right. He was more than my apprentice. He was my... best friend. My brother.” Just saying the words was painful. “I didn’t know, until it was... too late, that he and Padmé had married in secret, or that she was expecting.”

“Jedi don’t get married,” Owen said, and Obi-Wan had to smile. “So you _have_ heard of us.”

“Hm,” Owen huffed. “And...?”

“We were the best of the best,” he admitted, momentarily setting aside modesty. Owen had asked for the truth. “And then he did... horrible things. Under the influence of the Dark side. Unspeakable things. And someone had to stop him.”

“You.” Owen stated.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “I was tasked with confronting him. We fought, and I... won.” If only it had felt like a victory. Then or now. “I left him for dead, dismembered and in flames on the shores of a lava river on Mustafar.” He forced the words out, for Owen, for himself. Though the memory ran constantly through his mind, it was the first time he had said it aloud.

_It was necessary._

_It had to be done._

_But why did it have to be done by me?_

When he looked up, Owen was staring at him. “Does Padmé know?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan was horrified that Owen might think otherwise, that he would ever hide a truth like that.

“You killed her husband, and she still trusts you.”

He’d never thought about it like that before. Owen certainly had a way of spelling things out. But...

“Yes. He turned against her, too. At the end. Nearly killed her... Believe me, if there had been any other way...” The protest sounded weak even to his own ears. “I gave him every chance I could.”

 _How to explain from here?_ “It’s likely that the children will be strong in the Force, like Anakin was. They are,” he amended. That wasn’t in doubt. “The new Emperor... is not what he seems. He wanted Anakin to serve him in evil. To serve the Dark side. He failed. But if he knew Anakin’s children were alive... he’d want them instead.”

“So they’re in danger?” For the first time Owen seemed mildly alarmed.

“Not imminently, no. So far as we know, the Emperor thinks they died, along with Padmé. That we all died, at the end of the war. A trusted friend in the government has spread the appropriate rumors on our behalf. So the Emperor has no reason to think otherwise. As long as we stay off the galactic radar, stay hidden... he should continue to think so.”

“And if you don’t?” Owen asked.

“Well...” Obi-Wan shrugged. “That’s why I’m here.”

Owen mulled this over. “So what exactly happened to Anakin?”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, considering. “He was turned to evil by the Dark side of the Force. It preys on our doubts, our weaknesses. He was blinded to the truth...” He trailed off at the dubious look on Owen’s face.

“...Fear,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “He was having visions... that Padmé, and the baby... would die. He was trying to protect them.”

“Hm,” Owen said. “And he lost her anyway,” he gestured vaguely toward the house. “And then himself.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said wryly. “Yes. I hear it.”

Owen nodded once, an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“And,” Obi-Wan continued, “as a matter of fact, I am well aware that she certainly _will_ go to Mos Eisley without me. I had already decided to accompany her. But I will insist we take certain... precautions. And on that note,” Obi-Wan held up the project he’d been tinkering with: a battered old welding mask. He’d shaded it with green and black accents, and had Artoo weld on a false antenna and assorted greeble. “What do you think?”

Owen barked a laugh that echoed around the shop. “Sure. Sure thing. Every Jawa within a hundred miles will be clamoring for it.”

“Speaking of which...” Owen added. “I had another offer for your ship from that last Sandcrawler that passed by. One of these days they’ll stop asking and start taking. Hab’s cousin runs a salvage yard in Mos Eisley, rents out long-term storage. He’ll treat you fair enough. Park it there, until you need it.“

Obi-Wan sat back, stroking his beard. It was a reasonable suggestion. “We’ll take the speeder for the trip back...? It will be a tight fit...”

Owen shook his head. “Too far. Spend the night in Mos Eisley and take the transport back. I’ll pick you up in Anchorhead.” He turned toward the door, then called back, “Geostar Shipping and Salvage. He’ll be expecting you.”

Well. Owen had certainly thought of everything. At least he hadn’t requested they _sell_ the ship.

“Owen...?”

He turned.

“Thank you.”

Owen nodded. “I’m shutting the power down now.”

————

Obi-Wan found Padmé later in the courtyard, giving Leia a late-evening feeding. The nights were cooler now as they neared the solstice, and the stars hung bright and close in the sky. He wondered how many of those systems he’d been to over the years, and if he’d ever visit any of them again.

He sat down beside them on the bench. “I’m... sorry, Padmé,” he said finally. “Owen has brought it to my attention,” _credit where credit is due,_ “that protecting you and the children will come in many forms. It’s not always going to be swinging a lightsaber.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” She smiled up at him in the starlight, her eyes warm and welcoming, brim-full of forgiveness and understanding. “Though the lightsaber does come in handy,” she teased. “From time to time.”

“I sincerely hope so,” he replied with mock indignance.

They sat companionably together in the chilled air, serenaded by the buzzing hum of a late-night trooshti flitting around the green garden, the distant chirping of the sand bugs, the skittering of the dune beetles. The nights were as alive as the days here. So many creatures did not just survive, but thrive here, even in these harsh conditions.

He felt a jab in his side as Leia kicked him lightly, a contented stretch, and he stroked her little foot, marveling yet again at how small and perfect these children were. He’d never spent much time with children, just his stints of required service in the Temple crèche, and as a Jedi, of course, never thought of such a thing ever coming into his life. But already he couldn’t imagine life without them.

His own family, his birth parents, came so rarely to his mind anymore... but he was struck cold now by the sacrifice they had made, giving him over to the Jedi... just the _idea_ of handing Luke or Leia over to strangers...

“It’s called _love_ , Obi-Wan,” Padmé said softly, interrupting his musings. “What you feel for them. We call it _love_.”

“Ah,” he said slowly. “Yes, well, believe it or not, I am familiar with that concept. Jedi don’t lack feelings. We just seek to... control them. Rather than letting them control us.” He sat back, leaning against the cool sandstone wall, closing his eyes to the darkness, seeking the light.

“I... loved Qui-Gon,” he said quietly. “He was like a father to me. I know he loved me, too.”

When Qui-Gon had fallen, on Naboo... the anger, the rage, the _devastation_ he’d felt, in the fight against Maul... he’d never come so close to the Dark side, before or since. And then, when that _vile creature_ had slaughtered Satine... wasn’t that why he’d deferred Ahsoka’s request to aid Mandalore to the Jedi Council... because he didn’t trust himself to return there, to face that _monster_...? Oh yes, he understood the pull, the temptation, the power that Anakin had faced.

But had Anakin known that? Would it have changed anything? If Qui-Gon had been able to complete Anakin’s training, or if Anakin had been under the tutelage of another Jedi less... _rigid_. Or perhaps _more_ rigid. Someone like Windu, better able to put duty before personal interests...

Obi-Wan sighed. There was only one path. This path. “And I loved Anakin. I told him as much, at the end. But... it was too late.”

“Oh, you Jedi...” Padmé chided, her voice choked with tears.

“And...” he trailed off.

“Satine,” she supplied gently. He nodded, his eyes still closed, and he could almost smell Kalevalan lillies in the night air. But that had been... _different_ , and _that_ was too much, right now.

He felt her hand slide over his. It was warm, rougher now with the tasks that life as a mother on a desert planet had brought, but her clasp was gentle, delicate even. So unlike the first time she’d reached out to him, that dim, aching night in his bed.

“And you,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, opening his eyes to look at her. It sounded like a confession. It felt like a revelation. But of course he cared about her. He’d known her for years, fought side-by-side with her on too many occasions to count... they’d both saved each other’s lives.... they’d both worried over Anakin.

“I know,” she said simply. It wasn’t a surprise to her. “I’ve always known. And Anakin knew too. How much you loved him.”

She released his hand and turned back to Leia, drowsy and sated in her arms. Padmé lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her back firmly. “So, Mos Eisley?”

He exhaled. “Of course. I’ll take her tomorrow.”

“Oh no,” Padmé said. “ _We_ will take her. I’m her mother, she’s not going without me.”

“Padmé,” he said gently, one last half-hearted effort to convince her to stay home. He could certainly protect Leia, a baby was easy enough to hide. The beautiful senator from Naboo, on the other hand...

“Obi-Wan,” she countered, looking at him, all bold innocence, her voice sweet and steel and impossible to deny, and he understood again why Anakin had risked everything for her.

“Anyway,” she held Leia out to him. The baby promptly burst into tears.

“See,” Padmé said loudly, over the sound of Leia’s wailing. “She wouldn’t go peacefully with you anyway.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan muttered. “But we’re going in disguise.”

—————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a comment I received, I would like to clarify that Obi-Wan and Padme will not be sleeping together in this fic, as we all know she is technically still married. But note that it is tagged as an Obidala slash because there will be some *feelings* developing down the road... _while they both think Anakin is dead._ But let’s be honest... Obi-Wan is laden with excessive guilt, and he has extreme self-control. I mean, seriously. 
> 
> Bottom line: I have personally experienced the healing power of stories, but if what you’re reading makes you feel uncomfortable, please, protect your mental and emotional heath and move on to something else!! 
> 
> End of PSA. Thanks for reading!


	5. There and Back Again

When Obi-Wan stepped out of the workshop early the next morning, wearing the _specially modified_ welding helmet, he could feel Padmé’s amusement from across the courtyard. He rolled his eyes under the mask, accepting her mirth with dignity. He’d also fashioned a chest plate and gauntlets out of scrap, and all in all he was rather proud of the whole get-up, given the time and resources available. While he had borrowed one of Owen’s older blaster rifles, only for show, he hoped, his lightsaber was tucked under the chest plate. It was a bit awkward there, and would be difficult to reach in a hurry, but he couldn’t fathom leaving it behind. He’d managed the Tuskens all right without it, but this was... different.

“I know the great Rako Hardeen would never stoop so low,” Obi-Wan drawled as he sauntered over to her, practicing his mercenary gait.

She frowned. “Don’t even joke about that, Obi-Wan. I still haven’t forgiven you. Letting us all think you’d _died_ —”

He winced behind his mask. In truth, he did regret that whole endeavor, now, putting the good of the mission ahead of the people he cared about. The people who loved him.

“But for the humble _Ben_ Kenobi, it will do fine,” he continued contritely. His voice was dull from inside the helmet; he tugged it up over his head. “It should suit our—”

“Obi-Wan! You shaved!”

“Oh.” He thumbed his chin. “Indeed. I’ve been considering it for a while. I thought it might help with the disguise. And... it was itchy, under the helmet...” he trailed off as Padmé reached up and brushed her knuckles lightly down his jaw.

“Is it all right?” He asked, suddenly concerned.

She looked at him for a long moment, her hand lingering against his cheek. “Yes...” she finally decided. “Though it makes you look... younger,” she added, as though she’d never considered such a thing.

She dropped her hand, then pulled up her own hood and fastened a veil across her face. All he could see now were her dark eyes. It was a functional desert-dweller’s jubba robe, assembled with pieces from Beru’s scrap bag and an old sandsail, but he smiled to himself: she looked like a bedraggled, sun-bleached version of one of the handmaidens she’d been accompanied by (or _been_ , he still wasn’t entirely sure _who_ had been _whom_ , at that point) when they’d first met.

“Will this do?” She asked lightly.

“Perfect.” He settled the helmet back over his head.

A snort of laughter rang through the courtyard as Beru came out of the house, hands full with both babies, but she had composed herself into a serene smile by the time she passed Leia into Padmé’s arms. Bouncing Luke on her hip, she waved one of his little hands in their direction.

“Say good-bye and clear skies to Lei-lei and Mama and Uncle _Ben_ ,” she told him. “Off to blend in with the great unwashed of Mos Eisley.” Luke looked at them in wonder and stuck his fist in his mouth.

Obi-Wan was tempted once more to protest the whole endeavor, but then he looked down at Leia: her inflamed skin, her red eyes, the little mitts tied over her hands.

“Let’s go.”

——

It felt strange to be back in the shuttle, dim and confining, and the air smelled stale. Foreign. It had been months since he’d flown, Obi-Wan realized, as he went through the start-up procedures for launch. The longest stretch he’d spent land-side in years... at least since the start of the war. Padme sat quietly beside him in the co-pilot seat, and the trip was subdued, save for Leia’s squirming.

They found Geostar Salvage easily enough by the coordinates Owen had provided, and berthed the ship for an overnight stay. The proprietor, Zim, had heard the miracle of the Marstrap boys’ rescue from his favorite cousin Hab, ( _much exaggerated,_ Obi-Wan protested modestly), but Obi-Wan wasn’t above using the situation to his advantage, where Padmé and Leia were concerned. Zim gladly accepted some of the freighter’s spare parts in exchange for local credits. He was, in fact, _so_ pleased with the trade that Obi-Wan was sure he’d been fleeced, but their options were limited, and Leia was fussing again.

———

The streets of Mos Eisley were an assault to the senses as they made their way through the city to the medical center. The sights, sounds, and especially _smells_ , which his improvised helmet did nothing to filter out, were near to overwhelming: roasting foods from the specialties of a dozen species, exhaust from vehicles in various states of repair, and innumerable animals of all kinds, not to mention their droppings. The Force was heavy here, a pressure against his mind... teeming with life, but all of it guarded, suspicious, worn, weary.

At one point an ill-dressed Rodian glanced their way, its gaze lingering a moment too long. It was possible that it was simply noting they were new in town, and assessing them as an easy mark... but Obi-Wan wasn’t afraid of being too careful. He brushed the Rodian’s mind with a wave of disinterest. _Nothing to see here._ Its snout twitched, once, twice... and then its eyes slid away, enticed by a new target. Obi-Wan glanced at Padmé - her hood had slipped, strands of her dark hair revealed. He tucked them gently back, then tugged the hood over her head. She looked at him with what could have been a scowl, but he couldn’t tell behind the veil.

————

They waited in a long queue outside the healer’s premises, shaded in patches by a tattered awning. Leia squirmed and fussed, and Padmé did her best to comfort her while keeping her as sheltered from the sun as possible. From behind his mask, Obi-Wan kept his eyes on everyone and everything.

After an hour, they finally reached the door, which was guarded by an officious-looking Gran wearing worn coveralls and an air of bored superiority. She held up a hand, her eyes on the datapad before her. “No weapons, no masks ‘cept for atmo,” she said in a gravelly voice.

Obi-Wan frowned, reaching out soothingly with the Force. “I assure you, madam, I am no threat. It’s quite safe to let us pass.”

She looked up at him, staring a long moment, then blinked all three of her eyes. “No weapons. No masks,” she repeated, as though doubtful of his comprehension of audible speech. She pointed to a faded sign on the wall written in Basic, Huttese, and several other languages. “House rules. Take ‘em off or wait outside.”

Obi-Wan frowned, glancing at Padmé. So much for that. He handed the blaster to the Gran, who shoved it in a locker and tossed him a claim chip. The helmet he pulled off slowly, on edge, but the Gran barely spared him a glance. She jerked her head at Padmé, tugging the air at her own chin. Padmé pulled the hood farther over her head, then slowly removed the veil, and the Gran motioned them inside.

And _surely_ it was Obi-Wan’s imagination that the attention of every being in the room was suddenly upon them. Despite Owen’s indifference, his insistence that no one on Tatooine cared... surely nowhere in the galaxy had truly escaped the war. Or the warriors. In the Core, Holonews coverage had made the Jedi into celebrities. It had rarely been an issue on Coruscant, and in battle it usually worked in his favor, as his reputation often preceded him. Now he felt exposed.

But when the rush of blood passed and sound returned to his ears, the quiet bustle in the room was wholly indifferent. It had been his imagination. Of course.

—————

“Allergies,” the healer announced, after she had completed as thorough an examination as she could manage in light of Leia’s squirming.

“Allergies.” Obi-Wan repeated grimly. Hadn’t that been the diagnosis in Anchorhead? They’d come all this way for nothing.

“But not to food,” the healer continued. “An auto-immune reaction to the silicate environment. We see it occasionally, in children with offworld genetics.”

“Her father was from here,” Padmé put in. “Grew up here.”

The healer looked at Obi-Wan skeptically. He didn’t bother to offer a correction. Then she shrugged. “It’s a rare condition,” she said, more gently now. “But I’ve seen it a few times. It won’t resolve quickly on its own. I’ve got an injection for it, somewhere around here. I’ll give her one now, and send you home with the rest of the doses. Should take care of it.”

——————

The suns were low in the sky when they finally stepped out of the healer’s office. Obi-Wan settled his helmet back over his head, and waited while Padmé adjusted her veil and hood. Leia was already much improved, in both appearance and temperament, so that was something. Now they just had to make it through the night in one piece.

They spent the evening at a back table in a quiet cantina that grew increasingly crowded as the night wore on. _A bit too crowded,_ Obi-Wan was beginning to think, and he was really feeling as though he ought to be putting his helmet back on, but the tomo-spiced ribenes were _surprisingly good,_ when a voice from the group at the next table caught his attention.

“Emperor, he’s calling himself. The old senator from... where was it? Chandrila?”

Obi-Wan lifted his mug of tea to hide his face and leaned forward, straining to hear the conversation over the din of the cantina.

“Naboo, _uba koochoo,_ ” a second voice chimed in, rough and derisive. “He was the Chancellor before. During the war.”

“You’re the _koochoo,_ Dalton,” the first voice replied, muffled around a mouthful of food. “Chancellor, Emperor, what difference does it make?”

The nasal tones of an Ithorian joined the conversation. Obi-Wan wasn’t familiar enough with the language to catch the specifics, but his companions laughed in response.

“I’ll tell you what though,” Dalton interrupted, “I ran into Becker on Malastare, and he had just offloaded from an Ishi Tib who had a run-in with the _Emperor’s_ new enforcer. Saw ‘im right across the landing bay on Fondor, and a whole crew of Clones backing him up.”

“They aren’t calling them Clones anymore, nerf-herder. They’re _Stormtroopers,_ ” a third voice with the snide drawl of a Duros put in.

“Whatever. They all look the same on the outside. Anyway, Becker said the Tib swore to it. And they say his name is _Dark,_ ” the man pronounced, with great gravitas.

“No, no, no,” the Duros replied. “It’s not his _name’s_ Dark, he _wears_ dark, all black, that’s what I heard. Even his eyes.”

“Yeah, so, his name’s _Dark._ And they say he’s not even human... a cyborg, or a droid or something—”

Obi-Wan held in a shudder. _Another Grievous._ He glanced at Padmé. Her gaze was fixed on the table, but she was listening too.

“That’s krayt spit,” the first voice scoffed, as the Ithorian honked a long tone.

“I don’t know,” Dalton defended, “but whatever it is, Becker said it can move things with its mind. Like some kind of _loca_ Jedi.

“I heard _all_ the Jedi went _loca_ ,” the Duros replied. “Space-sick, or something. Nerve-burners, the whole lot of ‘em. _Rocka rocka._ So who are you in for on Boona Eve? My money’s on Skzziks. They say he’s been training with Mandrell himself...” the conversation turned to podracing, and Obi-Wan pulled back into the shadows.

 _The name isn’t_ Dark _,_ Obi-Wan realized. He leaned back in his seat, stroking his chin... he missed the beard already. _It’s_ Darth _. Sidious has already found a new apprentice._

“He’s found someone else,” Padmé’s horrified whisper echoed his thoughts. “After he lost Anakin.”

“But who?” Obi-Wan murmured, almost to himself. Another Jedi? There could only be so many Jedi left, if any. If _another_ had been lost to the Dark side...

“Maul,” Obi-Wan said. _That monster._ Obi-Wan had cut him in half, and yet... he’d survived. Returned... worse than before.

“You think it’s _Maul?_ ” Padmé repeated, eyes wide in horror.

“No,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “No. Or, I doubt it. I was just thinking about how he survived. As a cyborg... half machine...”

Padmé gasped, and a surge of _fear_ and _hope_ , _longing_ and _anguish_ assaulted him, a physical force, a tidal wave of raw emotion. “You think... you think it’s Anakin.” Her voice caught, and Leia whimpered. “It can’t be. You saw him die. He’s dead. You said he’s dead,” she said desperately.

“I... I fought him,” Obi-Wan realized, and his veins ran cold with terror. “But I couldn’t...”

In his compassion... his _weakness_... Had he condemned Anakin to a fate worse than death? A life like Maul: tormented, less than human, fueled only by hate, anger...

“So he could still be alive?” Padmé’s voice was strangled, and he hated himself for even the _moment_ of false hope he’d given her.

“No.” He was sure of that. “No, Padmé. He’s gone.” Whoever, _whatever_ this new servant of the Dark Side was... it couldn’t be Anakin Skywalker.

———————

They spent the night in the ship at Geostar Salvage, Padmé and Leia on the passenger benches, Obi-Wan in the pilot’s seat, his lightsaber in his lap.

“This berth is paid in full,” Obi-Wan said to Zim the next morning, a slight wave of his hand the only evidence of the Force suggestion passing over the man. “Hab sends his thanks.”

“Paid in full,” Zim echoed dully, making a mark in his ledger. “For how long?” he asked, his voice distant, unconcerned.

“Indefinitely,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Padmé was already heading out to the street, holding Leia tightly to her chest.

————————

They were making a steady pace toward the regional transport depot when a tall figure in dull, copper-colored durasteel armor, dented and _very_ well worn, stepped into their path and leveled a blaster at them.

“You’re new here.” The voice was raspy through an aged modulator.

“Just passing through,” Obi-Wan assured him gruffly, deftly maneuvering Padmé behind him. The thug’s blaster would make short work of Obi-Wan’s makeshift armor, but at least Padmé and Leia might have a chance... there was no point in dragging his own blaster rifle over his shoulder at this range. If only he could reach his lightsaber...

The thug looked him up and down, assessing his catch. “You gotta pay your respects to the guild, in any case.” The words were choppy, cut through with static.

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan said, trying to think of a way to distract their assailant, give Padmé, or, ideally, them all, an escape. “I would be glad to do just that, if you could point me in the right direction...”

“There is no guild on Tatooine!” The thug nearly chortled with glee at having caught out this interloper. “There is only the All-Mighty and Excellent Jabba Tsilic Desilij the Hutt, Eminence of Tatooine, and no one else.” He jerked his blaster carelessly and lowered his voice. “But if—” the modulator on his helmet crackled with static, and cut out all together.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Obi-Wan said cautiously, still trying to figure out exactly what was going on here, and how quickly they could get out of it.

The thug ripped the helmet off his head and threw it to the ground. “ _Kriffing_ waste tech, piece of junk—” He was human, and young, but as sun-burnt and haggard as most of the locals, with shaggy hair and an unmistakable air of desperation.

“I said,” he waved the blaster at Obi-Wan, “if you were to give your tribute to me, I could make sure it reached the right hands, and you could be on your way in peace.”

“Well, well, well,” Padmé’s voice, austere and coated with derision, rose from behind Obi-Wan, as though she were back on the Senate floor, addressing a particularly pompous delegation of Neimoidians. She peered around Obi-Wan, angling to keep Leia, still bundled tightly against her chest, safely behind his back.

 _Padmé, no_ , Obi-Wan thought desperately, but she was clearly committed, and perhaps this would be just the distraction he needed to get his saber into his hand...

“It seems Jabba was right... he does have a _few_ loyal employees left in Mos Eisley.” She peered at the thug, unintimidated, every inch a former queen, just as Leia squawked, a cry of protest.

The thug stepped back, momentarily confused. “Who are you?”

She ignored the question. “Jabba was beginning to doubt that his _loyal_ servants were really so loyal. The first two we encountered thought they’d keep our tribute for themselves. And the third didn’t even bother asking. But, then again,” she mused, hands drifting to the edge of her cloak as though fingering a blaster, “I suppose he doesn’t really qualify as an employee anymore... it will be difficult for him to serve Jabba from the afterlife, don’t you think?”

“Sure will,” Obi-Wan drawled, ready to play his part with aplomb. He had an idea where she might be going with this now; he’d let her take the lead. But... if they ended up in Jabba’s palace they’d be in real trouble. The Hutt was possessed of an infuriatingly long memory. There was no way he would have forgotten either of them.

“You... you work for Jabba?” The thug asked quietly, suddenly nervous, his eyes darting around the square.

“Of course... but... you’d know that, wouldn’t you? If _you_ really worked for him?” Padmé purred. She stepped around Obi-Wan, nearly in the thug’s face, and it was just the distraction Obi-Wan needed. His lightsaber was in his hand and nestled in the thug’s gut before the kid drew his next breath.

“Please don’t—I—I didn’t mean—” he gasped, all his bravado evaporated. “I’m not trying to cheat Jabba, I really was going to take the money to him, most of it! I—”

“Come now, my friend,” Padmé soothed, “Of course you were. We heard you. Jabba would be fortunate if all of his... employees... were as loyal as you. We will certainly mention your... devotion, to him, and to the maintenance of order in Mos Eisley, in our report.”

“You will?” The thug’s voice rose in hope, and Obi-Wan realized just how young he was. How desperate.

“Of course,” she assured him. “Now, we’ll be on our way,” she nodded at Obi-Wan and nudged him down the road. He didn’t need to be told twice. He slid the lightsaber into his sleeve as she turned smoothly in the direction of the transport center.

“Thank you,” the kid called, watching them go. “But wait, my name is—“

“Ah, ah,” Padmé waved a hand but didn’t turn. “No need. Jabba knows all about your... service. He’ll be in contact soon.”

The would-be thug’s reply was lost to the bustle of the road.

“How did you know he wasn’t really one of Jabba’s men?” Obi-Wan murmured to Padmé as they turned a corner. He confirmed they weren’t being followed and finally allowed himself to relax. Slightly.

Satisfaction radiated off her. “Jabba’s title is _His Excellency Jabba Desilijic Tiure of Nal Hutta, Eminence of Tatooine._ He’d never allow a subordinate to get it wrong more than once.”

“Of course. Well done.”

She patted Leia, still safely bundled under her cloak, “There are alternatives to aggressive negotiations,” she said lightly. Obi-Wan laughed. It was hollow under the helmet, but full of mirth, and relief, and it surprised them both.

—————————

The intra-planetary transportation depot on the outskirts of Mos Eisley turned out to be little more than a pourstone corral with an imperious archway and a dilapidated roof, which had been vaguely augmented by a medley of worn canvas sheets that rippled in the hot, dry wind whipping in off the plains. It was mostly empty when they arrived, though the bored Er’Kit attendant confirmed that the transport to Anchorhead would be along eventually.

“I was hoping we’d hear news of the Senate while we were here,” Padmé said quietly as they sat on a bench against the sandstone wall, where Obi-Wan could keep an eye on anyone coming or going, while the canvas covers fluttering in the wind provided modest shade.

He nodded. “I was too, to be honest. But it seems Owen was right... no one here much cares.”

“I do wish we could contact Bail,” she said hesitantly, a hopeful note in her voice. She’d pulled the veil off her face in the stifling heat. He hadn’t complained, and had finally even taken off his own helmet. The heat was extraordinary, he had to admit. “Let him know we’re okay. He’s probably worried.”

“I don’t know where we’d be without him,” Obi-Wan said, deliberately ignoring the implied request. “He... kept everything together there, those first few days. Getting Yoda off Coruscant, directing us to Polis Massa. Without his help, I don’t know what would have happened to the twins... or you.”

“Was I really that bad?” she asked, her voice almost lost against the hum of an approaching speeder.

He studied her profile under the flitting shadows. “You were, Padmé,” he said gently. “I honestly wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

She looked down at Leia, who was watching them solemnly with her wide, dark eyes from the shelter of her mother’s robe, and Padmé was silent for several long moments. “He broke me,” she said finally. “It wasn’t the losing him, that did it. It was before that. It was him.”

Obi-Wan nodded. _He broke us all._ “And now you’re putting yourself back together,” he said bracingly.

She shrugged. “Some days I’m not sure. Some days are... so hard.” Tears spilled over in her eyes, landing in dark splotches against the bleached collar of her robe. Leia reached up and touched her mother’s cheek. Padmé smiled, genuine and true, and, _yes,_ she was the strongest person he knew.

“I know,” he offered, because he had no idea, really, what _she_ was going through, but he was beginning to understand what _he_ was going through, and it would be a long and daunting road.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she added, patting his knee companionably.

 _Or I you,_ he thought. _You and the children._ But in the bright light of day the words wouldn’t come. He reached over and patted Leia on the head, tickling her neck until she giggled, as the shadows danced across her face.

——————————

When the transport to Anchorhead finally arrived they were more than ready to be done with Mos Eisley. The shuttle pulled to a stop in front of the corral, the hatch opening to reveal a droid, its left appendage a DC-8 blaster rifle.

Obi-Wan lunged into defensive stance, instinct taking over. He slide the lightsaber into his hand as legions of droids stormed his memory: battle droids and SBDs and commando droids, the stink of scorched plasteel and the shriek of torn metal, the Force rent by _pain, death, despair—_

“All aboard for Anchorhead,” the droid called out, high and tinny through an ancient vocabulator, and a melodious chime trilled as the boarding ramp extended.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé’s voice floated to him from across a long distance, and he looked down at her, surprised. He was on Tatooine. The war was over. Anakin was dead. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s just a driver. It’s probably armed against Tuskens.”

“Of course,” he murmured. _Of course._

They settled into seats at the back of the transport. Leia fell asleep against her mother’s chest, and even Padmé dozed, drifting in and out against his shoulder, but Obi-Wan stayed awake, his hand on his lightsaber, his eyes on the droid.

———————————

When they arrived back at the homestead, Padme handed Leia, fast asleep, to Owen, and he carried her inside to Beru. Then Padme headed out toward the salt plain where their ship had rested just the day before. Obi-Wan followed her, reluctant to let her alone outside the confines of the homestead. There was a dark smudge on the far horizon... a sandstorm was on the way.

She stared out at the empty plain for a long time. “We’re really staying,” she said finally, and now there were tears trailing down her cheeks. “We’re staying here.”

“The ship’s only in Mos Eisley,” Obi-Wan offered, trying to comfort. “We can retrieve it when needed.”

But Padmé shook her head. “We’re staying,” she said again, with all the conviction of a broken heart, and it was a declaration, a promise, a curse and a benediction. “And he’s not here. Of all the places in the galaxy, I’m living on Tatooine... without him.”

Obi-Wan was at a loss. He waited quietly as she paced the faint marks the landing gear had left in the hard-packed plain, mapping them out step by step, as though retracing the path that had brought her here.

Finally she stopped and stared out at the horizon. The cloud was growing, wind stirring up the sand into eddies, and the air smelled alkaline, dry and sour. “He hated sand. Now I understand why.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He’d been on the receiving end of that tirade more than once.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because it was all he could offer, inadequate though it was, and then he realized: he didn’t mean for the ship, or for dragging her to this desperate planet, so far from the bright center of universe, so far from all they’d known and loved.

“I’m so sorry, Padme. I should have saved him. I should have tried harder.”

“No.” She turned to him, vehement, though she kept her distance. “Don’t. It wasn’t your fault. If you...” she paused, choking on a sob. She swiped at her eyes, scattering precious moisture to the wind, _(and oh, how quickly desert thinking was sinking into his bones)_ and pressed on.

“You were the only one who would give him every last chance to come back, Obi-Wan. You loved him to the end. And if you believed that it had to be done, that he was truly gone... then _I believe you._ You’re the only one I’d believe.”

But Obi-Wan shook his head. He could not be absolved that easily, even by her. Especially by her. She needed to understand. What he’d done... and what he hadn’t done.

“I knew, Padme,” he called, raising his voice over the whipping wind, offering his confession to the moon and the stars, to anyone or anything that would listen. “I knew he loved you, I even suspected that he was visiting you, when we were home. And I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know he was safe with me. That he could trust me.”

“He did,” she insisted, stepping up to him, closing the distance between them... but then she paused, frowning, and Obi-Wan knew, struck as sure as a swift knife to the stomach. _He didn’t. At the end... he doubted. Anakin doubted me._

“He told Rex,” Obi-Wan continued, forcing himself to calm resolve now that Padmé stood before him. “Rex was his confidant. And I... I was hurt. That he didn’t trust me. But... to be honest, I was relieved. That I wouldn't have to lie for him. Because I made that choice once before, the choice between love and loyalty to the Jedi... and I... I chose the Jedi. I chose the Jedi over _her._ But I know, this time... I would have chosen him. If he’d asked for help... I would have supported him. Both of you. I always would have.”

“I know,” she said. She was lit now in amber and gold, burnished by the haze of sunset through the rising storm. “You were his best friend, his brother, his father, his mentor. And, to him, you were the ideal Jedi. He was so afraid of disappointing you. You meant everything to him.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, dismayed. Hadn’t that been the problem all along... Anakin and his _loyalties,_ his attachments, his fierce devotion to fallible people. “Perhaps he thought I wouldn’t understand,” Obi-Wan admitted, “about his love for you. Because I made a different choice, with Satine... but... in truth.... she didn’t ask me to stay... She didn’t even ask.”

_She thought I’d choose the Jedi, over her. So she didn’t ask. And Anakin thought the same._

Padmé wrapped an arm around him, leaning into him, and she was crying. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have known, I should have seen what was happening to him. To us.”

“I’m just so _angry_ at him, Obi-Wan,” Padme finally confessed, choked on tears. “For leaving us. All I ever wanted was him, to be with him. I’d have given everything up, for him, for our babies... I asked him. I asked him to leave with me... and he chose something else. He let me go. Let us go. And I’m so angry at him, and I miss him so much, every day, every moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said again, because what else was there to say? And then he too was weeping silently, resting his cheek on her head, and he clung to her as an anchor, a refuge. They were alone, all that remained of all that had been, but at least they were together.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way._

_Satine._

_Anakin._

_The Jedi._

_The Republic._

_We weren’t supposed to end like this._   
  


————————————

The suns had long set when they finally turned back toward the homestead. Even the moons were blotted out now by the rising storm, the wind swirling pellets of sand and salt that stung sharp against their cheeks and hands, and Owen was standing at the pourstone entry, sweeping the plain with a large portable glow lamp, calling to them. It would be a fierce storm. The next time they walked this way, the landscape would be completely changed.

_______________________________


End file.
